nly
person he recognized was Grace.

That she also recognized him he knew. She had seen the disguise he wore,
many times, and was familiar with it. She did not betray herself,
however, by so much as a glance, but proceeded at once to her seat.

When the moment arrived for the beginning of the performance, the house
was filled. Duvall, with Baker at his side, stationed himself back of
the left-hand section of seats, so that the rows reserved for the
employees of the company were directly in front of him. He occupied
himself, during the interval before the lights were switched off, by
noting carefully all the women in the last five rows, but none of them
attracted his attention particularly.

Soon the performance began. Ruth Morton, the American Beauty, stepped
upon the screen, a compelling vision of loveliness. The audience
followed eagerly her exciting adventures. Duvall himself, in spite of
his preoccupation, found himself absorbed by the charm and action of the
picture. In the opening scenes, Ruth appeared as a poor girl, trying to
make her way in the great world of the theater. Her struggles, her
sacrifices, her failures, were almost vividly portrayed. When at last,
through her marvelous beauty, she succeeded in gaining recognition from
the critics, he applauded with those about him, completely under the
spell of her charm.

The final scene of the first part was a view of Ruth, as Catherine Grey,
the American Beauty, refusing the dubious offers made her by a rich New
Yorker. With a faith in herself by no means assumed, Catherine turned
from his picture of luxury, of steam yachts, of country estates, of
unlimited bank accounts, with a smile which showed her confidence in her
beauty, her talents. The audience watched her, spellbound, as she stood
on the sidewalk before the theater, looking with grave inscrutable eyes
after the costly limousine that had just driven away without her. In no
picture heretofore taken of the girl had she appeared to better
advantage. Every line of her lovely face seemed responsive to the effect
of the lighting, the situation, the motives which inspired her. The
audience drew itself back, ready to register its approval of the first
part of the film with hearty applause.

And then, something happened. The lovely, smiling face of Ruth Morton
faded from view, and in its place came with brutal suddenness the
picture of a huge grinning death's head, amazing in its suggestion of
horror. The a